


Joy to the world

by SecretEve95



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, The Worst Witch Winter Warmers 2019, hackle if you squint, holiday spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretEve95/pseuds/SecretEve95
Summary: “A matter has arisen that I find particularly troubling. I hope you’ll all share in my concern,” the headmistress paused. “Miss Hardbroom seems to have lost her holiday spirit.”Her declaration was met with silence and several raised eyebrows.“Was there a time when she did have holiday spirit?” Miss Drill said incredulously.
Relationships: Ada Cackle & Hecate Hardbroom
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: The Worst Witch Winter Warmers 2019





	Joy to the world

Miss Hardbroom surveyed the lively playground without enthusiasm or interest. This morning her eyes had lost their keenness and were not on the lookout for bad behaviour. Her mind had become submerged back into the tumultuous sea of thought that had been plaguing her for some time. She felt helpless against the tide. The potions mistress felt the weight of the holiday season on her shoulders. It was a time of year that inspired togetherness. For her, it was a time of year that cast a harsh light upon her otherness; a time of year that worked against her to strengthen her isolation; a time of year that brought a myriad of repressed thoughts and feelings to the surface. She felt alone and adrift in the world with her purpose in teaching the girls as her sole anchor. There were days when that was enough. There were many days when it wasn’t. 

She sighed and lifted her hand to inspect the timepiece that rested against her chest. She prised it open with ease, checked the time, and snapped it shut. The familiar gesture was second nature and acted as a comfort. Right on time the school bell sounded, and she re-entered the castle with the students. Her journey took her past the great hall. As she passed by the open door she was stopped by a voice from within. 

“Good morning, Miss Hardbroom. I’ve just rounded this lot up to help decorate the hall for the end of term feast,” Miss Drill approached and came to a halt in the doorway. “Will you come in and lend a hand?”

“I can’t imagine why you would require my help.” she replied, a little taken aback by the request. 

At that moment a large levitating wreath intended to be hung on the door collided with the back of Miss Drill’s head. She turned around in alarm. Her eyes settled upon the guilty student who had lost control of it. 

“Mildred Hubble, may I remind you that levitation spells require complete focus. Do be careful.” The PE teacher adjusted her tone from authoritarian to friendly and rubbed the back of her head. “I thought that it might be fun if we helped the girls hang the decorations together, that’s all.”

Miss Drill turned back to discover that the potions mistress had already vanished. She blinked away her slight shock in time to catch a glimpse of Miss Hardbroom turning into another corridor in a robotic-like fashion. A twinge of sadness and pity stung her heart as she tried and failed to imagine Miss Hardbroom gleaming any enjoyment from the holidays. Her mind was turned back to the task at hand when a particularly high-pitched squeal emanating from her volunteers interrupted her reverie. 

Miss Hardbroom’s sure and steady bootsteps clapped against the stone floor. She exited the stairwell into another corridor that took her past the school kitchens. As she passed by the open door she was stopped by a voice from within. 

“Ah, Miss Hardbroom,” Miss Tapioca said in an elated tone. “I’ve just boiled the kettle. And I’ve got some lovely, freshly-made mince pies.” 

Miss Tapioca beckoned her into the kitchen. The potions mistress obliged, and her eyes were drawn to the presence of several mouldy cookbooks stacked on a shelf to her right. The kitchen was warm and cluttered. The perimeter of the room was lined with ovens, stovetops and benchtop workspaces. A large wooden island bench stood in the centre of the room with a handful of stools haphazardly tucked beneath it. Miss Tapioca disappeared into the pantry and reappeared with two small plates each laden with a couple of palm-sized mince pies. She set them to rest on the table and busied herself at the stove preparing the tea. With her back to the potions mistress she began to chatter at breakneck speed.

“You wouldn’t believe how run off my feet I’ve been lately in the lead up to the holidays. Worst time of year to be a cook, believe me! I’ll be happy once this wretched holiday season is over and we’re safely coasting along into the new year. And it’s not just work that’s making me feel rundown – I tell you: it’s my ex-husband. His wallet’s like an onion – opening it makes him cry. And, so it has fallen upon me to buy, prepare, host and cook the dreaded Christmas dinner for the sake of our daughter, Mabel. Husbands, Miss Hardbroom – be glad you’ve never had one.” 

The potions mistress pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows slightly in response to being bombarded with this information. 

“There,” Miss Tapioca said with satisfaction as she placed a cup of tea on the table. Kettle in hand, she turned back to the workbench to fill her own tea cup. 

Miss Hardbroom accepted the task she felt had befallen her, albeit begrudgingly. She curled her fingers in the air and the cup of tea and small plate of teats vanished from the table and reappeared in her hands. 

“Thank you, Miss Tapioca. I’m sure Miss Cackle will enjoy these very much.”

The head kitchen witch was in the midst of following up on her previous comments. In sudden alarm she stopped talking. 

“Oh, no. They aren’t for Miss Cackle. I just fancied some company.”

Miss Tapioca whipped back around in surprise to discover that the potions mistress had already vanished. A characteristic grimace reclaimed her face. She plonked herself down at the table and quelled her disenchantment with a large mouthful of mince pie. 

Miss Hardbroom tapped the hard wood of Miss Cackle’s office door with the toe of her boot. When she heard the headmistress’s voice instructing her to enter she vanished and reappeared on the opposite side. 

“Ah, Hecate.” She said as she looked up from the paperwork on her desk. “Did we have a meeting?”

“No, headmistress. Miss Tapioca gave your morning tea to me to deliver.” 

She found a space on Miss Cackle’s desk that wasn’t covered by paperwork and set the teacup and plate of treats down. The headmistress eyed them curiously. 

“I didn’t request any morning tea. That’s quite unusual,” she replied lightly. She shook her head to dispel her apprehension. “Well, these mince pies do look delicious.”

Miss Hardbroom’s eyebrows knitted together in a moment of confusion. 

“Won’t you sit and have tea with me?” Miss Cackle said as she relocated herself to the armchair by the fire. She then selected a mince pie and raised it to her mouth. 

“No tea. Not for me. But I will sit, thank you.” 

“I trust your week is fairing better than mine.” Miss Cackle sipped her tea and began to chat with ease and comfort. “The Magic Council have requested that I submit another report regarding the reignition of the Founding Stone. Monitoring whether there have be any ill effects on the magic of the school since the incident had always been the intention. However, they have very recently decided that they would like twice-yearly reports instead of annual. I’ve spent my morning working on it. It seems that I have much to do in the wake of the holidays.”

Miss Hardbroom had listened intently. 

There was a pause as the headmistress took another bite of the mince pie. It crumbled in her grasp and she failed to catch a portion as it fell, evaded the plate in her lap, and spilled onto the floor. 

“Indeed. Without sufficient notice that would prove to be a laborious and challenging task.” Miss Hardbroom responded. 

Miss Cackle was on the verge of asking her colleague how her week had been when she bent down to retrieve the sullied portion of mince pie. Miss Hardbroom accepted the task she felt had fallen upon her capable shoulders. She curled her fingers in the air and a stack of the paperwork vanished from the headmistress’s desk and reappeared in her hands.

“I will take some of the workload off your hands, Ada.” 

Aghast, the headmistress’s eyes widened. She seized the portion of mince pie off the floor and moved to sit upright once more. Miss Cackle placed the mince pie portion aside to the outer rim of her plate. 

“No, no, no, Hecate. I certainly don’t want you to take on any additional work. I was purely telling you about the morning I’ve had.” 

The potions mistress had already vanished, and Miss Cackle was left facing the empty lounge opposite. Lines of concern creased her forehead. Hecate had been her comrade and confidant for a great many years. The loyalty and familiarity that bound them together was strong. Miss Cackle sipped her tea and reflected upon her interactions and observations of her deputy over the past weeks. She came to the realisation that in the lead up to the holidays Hecate had grown prickly and barbed, and had tended to recede to her sanctum whenever possible. Miss Cackle sighed. Her heart wilted with the belief that Hecate was suffering with pain or loneliness during this magical time of year. Miss Hardbroom had lost her holiday spirit – and Ada feared that it may be for good. 

Miss Cackle traversed the corridor that would lead her to the staffroom. A plot was brewing in the forefront of her mind that became clearer with each bootstep she took. She opened the door and observed the usual mid-afternoon lull that hung like a cloud over the staff. Remedies of a strong cup of tea or coffee were cradled in many pairs of hands. She trusted that Hecate would not be there as she seldom socialised. Her eyes swept the room and she was correct in her assumption. Present in the staffroom were: Miss Drill, Miss Tapioca, Miss Bat, and Mr Rowan-Webb. 

“I wondered if I might have a word with you all.” 

She was greeted with a chorus of assent and Miss Drill gestured for her to take a seat. As she settled into an armchair Miss Bat presented her with a cup of tea. Miss Cackle accepted it with gratitude. The teachers had established themselves well on a lounge and two mismatched armchairs that surrounded a crackling fireplace. They assimilated her into their warm grove with ease. 

“A matter has arisen that I find particularly troubling. I hope you’ll all share in my concern,” she paused. “Miss Hardbroom seems to have lost her holiday spirit.” 

Her declaration was met with silence and several raised eyebrows. 

“Was there a time when she did have holiday spirit?” Miss Drill said incredulously. 

“Hm,” Miss Bat interjected. Her eyes wandered as she searched her very long memory. A lengthy pause followed. “Yes, there was.”

Miss Drill raised her eyebrows. The chanting mistress did not elaborate. Miss Cackle cleared her throat and continued. 

“I think that together we should hatch a plan to restore her holiday spirit.”

“And exactly how do you propose we do that?” Miss Tapioca asked sardonically. 

“I have an idea in mind, but I’m open to suggestions.”

Silence.

“Hm, she’s a tough nut to crack.” Mr Rowan-Webb mused. He twirled his long beard between his fingers absentmindedly. A moment later he was flabbergasted to find himself centre stage and the recipient of several accusatory stares. He cleared his throat and croaked. “An exceptional witch, no doubt.” 

Miss Cackle continued. 

“Colleagues, we are; but a family, we have become. A gathering to mark the occasion of the holidays could be wonderful. I was thinking along the lines of a dinner.”

“As long as I don’t have to cook it.” Miss Tapioca remarked wryly without forethought. Hit with the realisation of her blunder, she offered. “My apologies, Miss Cackle.” 

Miss Drill stifled her laughter in her hand. The headmistress overlooked the interruption and continued. 

“Miss Tapioca, please inform the kitchen witches of our plans so the arrangements can be made. And I’ll be seeing you tonight.”

“Yes, Miss Cackle.”

The headmistress turned to Miss Bat. Before she could delegate another task, the chanting mistress spoke. 

“I could bring my gramophone for entertainment.” 

“Thank you. That sounds most agreeable.” Miss Cackle cleared her throat. “Mr Rowan-Webb, would you be so kind as to organise for our duties to be covered by the other teaching staff tonight?”

“Gladly,” he smiled. 

“Miss Drill,” she faltered, unable to think of another task. Miss Drill raptly offered one up. 

“I could cast and impervious spell on your office so that once HB’s there she won’t be able to escape by transferring.” Her voice lilted higher in question. 

“Uh, thank you,” she responded politely with raised eyebrows. “But I don’t think that will be necessary.” 

That evening Miss Hardbroom was summoned to the headmistress’s office. She rapped her knuckles against the door and was granted an invitation to enter. She vanished and appeared on the opposite side. The potions mistress was greeted by a peculiar scene. The lounge and armchairs by the fireplace were missing and in their place were a dining table and chairs. She noted that there were six places set. Care and detail had gone into the arrangement of candles, plates, glasses and silverware. The obvious lengths gone to were impressive. The room was cosy with the warmth of the fire. Whilst Miss Hardbroom faltered and surveyed the scene, Miss Drill waltzed in through the open door behind her. She chirped her words of welcome merrily and lingered beside the potions mistress. 

“Come in, Hecate,” Miss Cackle said in an encouraging tone. “Take a seat.”

“What is the meani-,”

“I thought it would be lovely if we had a private dinner to celebrate the end of term and the upcoming holiday.” 

Miss Hardbroom’s eyes widened and her eyebrows rose to crease her forehead. She stood ramrod straight and flexed her taloned hands by her sides to ease her tension. Before she could respond, Miss Drill grasped her gently by the forearm and guided her to an empty seat. Miss Tapioca, Miss Bat and Mr Rowan-Webb were already seated and greeted her kindly. 

“Some wine, Hecate?” Miss Cackle offered, playing the host. 

“A small one." she replied curtly, gritting her teeth and submitting to the evening. 

Ada dismissed her comment and poured a generous amount into her glass. The headmistress returned to her seat at the head of the table. Miss Drill turned to her with merriment shining in her eyes and thrust one end of a Christmas cracker in her direction. Miss Hardbroom automatically returned the gesture with a scathing look. 

“C’mon, HB.” she cajoled. “It’s Christmas.”

Everybody else took this as a que and joined in joyfully. Miss Hardbroom watched as the other guests picked up the Christmas crackers that were resting on their empty plates and selected a partner. With cheer, colourful paper hats and small papers inked with jokes began exploding with a bang from their confines. Miss Hardbroom conceded defeat with an exaggerated eyeroll and smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She grasped the end, pulled, and discovered herself to be victorious in gaining the larger half. Egged on further by Miss Drill she unfurled the pink paper hat and put it on her head. To her own surprise she allowed it to linger there for a few minutes before removing it when the attention placed upon her had drifted. She left it to rest beside her plate. 

Before long the headmistress waved her hand in an extravagant fashion and a surplus of food appeared on their plates. Miss Hardbroom looked down at her plate to see roast ham and potatoes, carrots, broccoli and peas. It appeared that without Miss Tapioca’s input, the meal quality had risen - though nobody made mention of this. The meal continued smoothly. Conversation and wine flowed freely as everyone ate. In the wake of conversation Miss Hardbroom primarily listened, and for the most part everyone was content to let her. As she put her knife and fork down she found that perhaps she had eaten a little more than was good for her, and consumer a glass of wine more than she’d intended. 

Satiated and fit to burst, the dinner party eventually rose from their seats. Miss Cackle cleared the table with a wave of her hand. A second gesture disappeared the dining table and chairs and returned the familiar lounge and armchairs to their rightful places. 

“How about some music?” trilled Miss Bat. She did not wait to garner a response and traversed the room to the gramophone that she had set up earlier. A moment later, music wafted through the room. 

Miss Drill stretched her stiff limbs and stifled a yawn. Miss Tapioca and Miss Cackle moved to sit with the mention of tea. Hecate motioned to follow them but quickly found her path blocked. 

“May I have this dance?” Mr Rowan-Webb said good naturedly. He held out his hand in invitation. 

Her face felt warm and flushed from the heat of the fire and no doubt the wine she had consumed over the course of the evening. The boundaries of her better judgement were a little fuzzy around the edges and she allowed herself to be swept away in the arms of her colleague. After about thirty seconds, the gawkishness, poor coordination and self-conscious nature from her girlhood returned to her. She pulled away. 

Ada patted the space on the lounge next her as an invitation to sit. As Hecate settled, a steaming cup of tea was placed into her hands by Miss Tapioca. She nodded in thanks. The warmth of the teacup was welcome. Miss Bat and Mr Rowan-Webb started up a waltz which waned in preference of looking longingly into each other’s eyes. The company by the fire delved effortlessly into conversation. The potions mistress took a long moment to rest easily in her own silence. 

Ada caught her eye and smiled in a reassuring manner. 

A flicker of zest – that could be mistaken for holiday spirit – sparked to life in Hecate’s torso. With the rise and fall of her chest she allowed it to move through her heart with caution. Like blood, it journeyed through her body and warmed her fingers and toes. 

She returned a private smile to Ada.


End file.
